Aearwen's Little Bits
by Aearwen22
Summary: Drabbles of exactly 100 or 200 words as counted by MS Word, no matter what FFN says. Sept 3 - "Conspiracy"
1. Free At Last

Elrond opened the velvet pouch and dumped the contents into the palm of his hand. The weight of the gold and the sparkling sapphire were considerable, but the weight of power it had contained had evaporated.

With it, he had protected his stronghold and all of those who had come to him, but no more. Vilya was dead, an artifact of another Age, of a need fulfilled.

With no hesitation at all, he dropped it into Celebrimbor's open hand to join the other two rings. Free at last - and forever diminished - Elrond reclaimed Celebrían's hand and walked away.


	2. The Moment of Truth

Gandalf swung his sword, and a scream tore from his throat as fire seemed to suddenly consume his ring finger.

The dread moment of truth was come. Would Sauron take him captive, or was the thought that would smite him utterly even now forming in the Dark Lord's mind?

He drew breath to scream grief and defiance - only to discover other throats screaming terror and defeat. The ground shook and opened, and the horde of _yrch_ stampeded blindly to their doom.

It could only mean one thing.

And on his own hand, a dead Elven ring resurrected his hopes.


	3. A Door Closed

It seemed only yesterday that she had stared into the mirror in horror, watching the armies of darkness flow like sickness over the land. Then had come the flash of coldness and confusion as, in her mind, a door closed that would never open again.

Galadriel stared the ring on at her hand as if she'd never seen it before. Nenya's song of power had concluded and fallen silent. Her mind was leashed, no longer wandering freely across the face of Arda. Lorien would rejoin the river of time and eventually fade away.

The time to go home had come.


	4. Departure

Aragorn stared down into the Elven Havens, his gaze skimming the waterline. He was tired, for he had ridden hard since word of the departure had been heard in Gondor.

Why, he wanted to ask, had had no one bothered to send to him for assistance - to call for his presence at least one last time? Surely the friendship they had shared had counted for more than this.

But no ship floated at the docks, and only three saddened hobbits wound their way to him, heading home. Frodo was gone - as was Gandalf.

Now the Fellowship was _truly_ broken.


	5. Empty Promises

The promises were empty, the rewards never his. The authority was sweet, yet soon stolen back to its rightful owner. Ever had he done as he'd been told, and suffered for it.

Now he was nothing more than a beggar. No. Worse. He was the beggar's slave; hated, cursed, kicked.

Wormtongue, they called him once - now they called him worse. But Grima, son of Galdor, would have no more of it.

He rose from the dust of the Shire road, summoned his hatred and slew the fallen wizard - and welcomed hobbit arrows that set matters aright at last.


	6. Inevitable

"_Navaër, mellon nîn._" Elrond watched the line of horses disappear around a turn in the path.

"Estel will not be pleased," Elrohir said quietly. "He wanted her to stay where it is safe."

"Gilraen understand that there _is_ no safe place," Elrond replied. "And her need to be _here_ is finished. She wants to be with her own people in the end."

"But she is needed," Elladan agreed with his brother. "She has done so much..."

"She deserves her rest," Elrond stated firmly. "Estel will just have to understand - as will you two, when my time to leave arrives."


	7. Fulfilled

"Your oath is fulfilled," Isildur's Heir pronounced. "Depart and be at rest!"

The shadow of a long-dead warrior looked at the spear in his hand - the one he had carried for so long that he could not remember a moment without it being there - and at last he had the strength to break it over his knee. He heard others doing the same.

A fresh breeze blew in, bearing the sweet smell of a home long forgotten. A sigh arose from the whole Host. The Dead would fight no more.

Home. Rest. Peace. He let go, and vanished.

A/N: The words in quotations are taken directly from The Return of the King: The Last Debate.


	8. I Saw Them

Did you see them, Da?

I was there - I heard our Lord Faramir ask if Gondor would receive her King, and I was one of the ones who yelled "Aye," as loudly as I could. I yelled for you and for Nana, because I knew you could not. I yelled for Cooper Danel and his goodwife, and all of you who couldn't get out of the way of those flying balls of fire.

Did you see them, Da? The Elf that came with the King - the Dwarf, the Wizard? Legends come to life?

I saw them Da.

Unbelievable!


	9. Beyond the Door

He shrieks yet again and would pound heavily upon the Door, if he could but find it. It is not right that one of his stature should be so undone!

Hatred and anger flare - and sputter helplessly in the face of absolute nothingness. Once the master of millions, now there exists only the scattered shreds of revenge and greed and malice that used to be a being of infinite power and wisdom.

All is sundered. Within the Void, there is neither prisoner nor prison, inmate nor walls, guard nor guarded.

And in nothingness, Morgoth lurks, howling, in pain, impotent.


	10. Determination

"This may not work."

"I know." The hills and beach slowly shrank toward the horizon. "This is right - I feel it."

"You did not have to come with me." Legolas insisted.

"Yes I did." Gimli raised his eyes to his friend. "It's my job to watch your back."

"My back will not need watching in Aman," Legolas began.

"Says who?"

"Gimli, In the Undying Lands, if there is a back to defend, it will be yours!" Legolas sighed in defeat. "If it does not work..."

"We'll think of something, Elf."

_From your lips to the Valar's ears, mellon nîn._


	11. Last Chance

He watched from a distance in amazement as Galadriel moved from Celeborn's arms to join those already onboard the huge ship.

Even _she_ was going home?

His eyes widened even further to see Elrond - tall, elegant, so very weary - follow her. He looked around, puzzled. Now he remembered; Elros was long gone.

More boarded, two mortals among them; the ramp was withdrawn and ropes loosened. Still the ship remained, as if expecting one more latecomer. And on the shore, a silver-bearded Elf turned in his direction, waiting.

Maglor turned and walked away. He knew he didn't deserve forgiveness.


	12. At Last

"I summon you to the Stone of Erech!"

For the first time, I felt purpose giving me form again. A voice with the power of Isildur himself had called me forth from the shadows that had been my shelter for years without number. About me, I felt comrades whose names I had long forgotten similarly stir.

We followed that tiny band of Living Flesh out from our mountains' shadows, even unto the black stone. Again, that great voice called forth:

"Oathbreakers, why have ye come?"

The one spoke for us all.

"To fulfill our oath and have peace."

At last.

**A/N: **Quotations lifted directly from The Return of the King: "The Passing of the Grey Company"


	13. Distraction

It was the end of a job well done.

The trees stood tall, their leaves green and vibrant; the grass a thick carpet stretching out in all directions, littered with elanor, niphrodel and alfirin like small gems scattered on the floor. The small stream ran a refreshing cold on a warm summer day.

Ithilien had been once known as Gondor's Garden - and it was becoming that once more. Legolas brushed his hands together and straightened to enjoy the fruits of his labors for the past fifty years.

And yet...

He listened carefully and frowned.

Was that a gull's cry?


	14. In Love

He was in love.

In all his long life, never had blue eyes caught him up in their depths and made him long to remain submerged and captive. Eyebrows arched like an arrow's flight toward the smooth brow. Skin softer than song lay warm beneath his touch. A blush of the freshest spring rose colored the cheek above bud-like lips that seemed continually pursed.

Hair as dark as night and as soft as silk made a stark statement against the white silk against which it was pressed.

"She's beautiful!" Legolas sighed as Aragorn laid his newborn daughter in his arms.


	15. Grieving

"He is dead then. I feared it was so."

I could hardly believe it. Balin, strong as an ox, I remember him; deep voiced like the soul of the mountain, beard as white as the snows on Caradhras. Much of my knowledge I owed to him, and now here he lay. All the hope that had gone into his plans now rested beneath a carved stone. The strength of the Dwarves has failed after all.

I drew my hood over my face to let tears fall where none could see.

It is not seemly for a dwarf to grieve openly.

**A/N:** Quotation lifted from The Fellowship of the Ring: "A Journey in the Dark"


	16. Bequest

She watched him come forward and frowned in concern. Thranduil's son now had a face with furrows worn by grief, and no glow at all. She was surprised that he'd even made the trip.

"What can I do for you, Thranduilion?" she asked gently.

"I come on behalf of another," was the answer, "to fulfill a bequest. He wanted you to have this, and hoped you would think of him kindly." He held out a hand and dropped a jewel into Galadriel's receiving palm - a jewel with three golden hairs curled gracefully within.

She nodded, too moved for words.


	17. Not A Request

In all his years, he had learned his friend's father was capable of towering furies that would leave all cowering; but more fearful still were those times when the Elf spoke quietly.

Gimli didn't quite tremble as Thranduil walked up to him on the docks and looked down on him without speaking for a long moment.

"You will take care of him." Softly spoken, it wasn't a request.

"Aye - for as long as is given me to do so."

Only as he clasped hands did Gimli realize the grieving Elvenking was entrusting him with the life of his son.


	18. Did You Know?

He hadn't thought to see her again, yet there she was, standing next to Master Elrond and Gandalf, all of them awaiting the signal to board the ship. So much was about to be lost forever.

Shyly he approached, and Elrond backed away discretely so he could say the words in his heart.

"Master Gamgee," Galadriel greeted him.

"I wanted to thank you," he muttered. "For your gift, I mean. Did you know?"

"Know what?"

"How much it would be needed, to restore the Shire?"

Grey eyes twinkled, and her answering smile was as enigmatic as ever. "_Namarië_, Samwise Gamgee."


	19. To Lose Forever

He kept his eyes on the trees, on the turn in the road ahead. Anything. But the whisper in his heart persisted:

_Turn! One more wave, Ada - please!_

He couldn't.

In those brief, horrible moments, he'd tried to explain that which no Elf could truly understand - what it was like to lose forever. He alone understood that kind of grief - and would again. But he knew that nothing would bring the reality clearer to Arwen than this.

If he turned, waved, he would not be able to leave.

And so Elrond looked straight ahead - and wept.


	20. Turn

_Turn_, her heart whispered across the grasslands. _Turn. One wave, Ada. Please!_

But the tall figure with the dark hair at the head of the Imladris delegation did not turn, did not wave. He remained resolutely forward, looking to his destination, since leaving Edoras.

She thought the worst behind her. Those tender, terrible moments the two of them shared, alone and unobserved, had left her almost incapable of intelligent conversation, completely bereft. Lost.

_Turn! One more wave, Ada - please!_

But an echoing hole opened at the bottom of her heart as Elrond vanished from sight - without once turning.


	21. A Taste of Home

Elrond took in the scent of the gardens surrounding Barvedui, his beautiful new home Celebrían had prepared for him, and then turned back to his task. The tubers that lay beneath the ground before him, beneath fading plants, were ready for harvest.

Someday he would have to thank Erestor for packing away the last of Bilbo's treasures before they had left Imladris. His cook, at least, would know how to properly prepare them; and they would be appreciated by his hobbit guests this night. Imagine! Shire taters in Valinor!

He smiled in anticipation of having a little taste of home.


	22. Betrayed

Frodo stood at the very edge of creation and destruction; below him, the glowing river surged and sprayed upwards. He pulled The Ring from the chain - and The Ring pulled at his mind, making him see it anew.

How could such beauty be so evil? Why could he not use It for the benefit of all?

With It, he could protect the Shire. He - Frodo - could protect all Middle-earth!

Frodo turned to Sam. "I have come, but I do not choose now what I came to do. I will not do this deed. The Ring is mine!"

A/N: Quotation lifted in full from _The Return of the King_, "Mount Doom"


	23. The Watcher in the Water

I awaken; movement in the outer world disturbs the water.

Many somethings - some small, some large - disturbed the peace of the water.

Hunger!

Voices, such as hadn't been heard in a long time, penetrated the water.

One voice, calling out over and over again, the same words in different order.

Something else! Must get closer!

The little ones has it! Close to the water it stands: food and a prize!

Only a short reach. Pain! Food and prize escape.

No! Do not take it in there! Mine!

If I cannot have it, let them perish in the Darkness!


	24. Losing Something Priceless

He looked down past the rooftops of the Havens to where a White Ship waited at anchor. His time of choice was now upon him. He watched Cirdan board the ship and knew: after this ship, there would be no other.

He looked around. Ennor was home. He had fought hard to earn the right to stay, dependent on no Elven Ring nor the whims of the Valar. And yet, all those he loved most awaited him beyond the Sea. Either way, he would lose something priceless from his life forever.

And at last, Thranduil made the only decision possible.


	25. Traitor

"You do not belong here," the porter hissed. "Go back to your post."

Beyond, Beregond heard his Lord's impassioned exhortations. Pippin was right. His Lord's mind was indeed overthrown.

For a moment, he wavered; and in his heart, Honor battled with Justice. Honor lost. "Stand aside and give me the key, or perish!" Beregond drew his sword.

"Traitor!"

The sword sang, and the key was claimed. The Closed Door opened. Beregond leapt to stand before the Steward's House, barring others' entry.

He had chosen his path; blood on his sword confirmed his doom. His soul was forfeit.

So be it.


	26. Closer

Elrond took a deep breath and roused. He could hear the voices of birds singing in the trees and Elven voices raised in celebration of the morning. The warm air told him he must not be still in the Shire or on the outskirts of Mithlond. There, Narbeleth's chill took longer to dissipate.

Suddenly, a soft, fragrant warmth beside him settled closer to him with a sigh. Any remaining fog of Elven dreams vanished in an instant.

He was here. More importantly, _she_ was here beside him. Asleep. Alive. Whole. Celebrían.

He gathered her close and tried not to weep.


	27. Hospitality

Glóin was beside himself. Gimli had returned a hero, but had brought with him... an Elf! And not just any Elf, but the son of that thrice-damned Elvenking who'd thrown him in the dungeon!

Bushy brows that had gone nearly silver over the last year lowered dangerously. By Mahal! He'd recognized that golden hair! But the laughter was like a crystal bell. Thranduil's, he remembered, was a deep chime. And those blue eyes - not green - held no guile.

He met Gimli's wary gaze and smiled cautiously. Dwarven hospitality could better Elven hospitality any day.

He could do this...


	28. Reciprocation

"Feasting, you say!"

"Yes, Father. Glóin's cooks are very talented in preparing venison. And then there was the dancing..."

"Dancing?" Thranduil's eyes widened. "I didn't know dwarves could dance..."

Legolas' eyes twinkled. "It isn't dancing as we do it, but it was quite compelling. Gimli taught me how - and it was..."

"You danced with Gimli??" The Elvenking's nostrils flared.

"I danced with all of them, Father. It was a circle dance."

"Oh." Thranduil deflated, then grew wary. "And what did you promise in return?"

"That you'd reciprocate, of course."

Thranduil smiled. Elven hospitality could better Dwarven any day.

"When?"


	29. Reconsideration

Thranduil sat, wine goblet forgotten in his hand, watching the dancing - watching that Dwarf dancing. There was grace there, in a very stunted, earthy way.

The Dwarf had proven to be far more than he'd expected, with a voice rougher than any Elven voice, but with courteous words that displayed a keen intelligence. His laughter was contagious, and his eyes showed not a hint of guile.

Listening to their stories, he'd discovered that the Dwarf had been a faithful friend. Gimli had saved the life of his son.

That changed everything.

_Now_ he was glad he'd made the effort.


	30. Amazing

The people of the village stared in amazement as the tall horses emerged from the forest and walked through the town and out again. Sunlight glinted off of the hilts of the long swords that hung at the sides of the warriors, and sparkled in the flowing hair of the women.

Twenty of them there were; tall, graceful, with faces that looked to have seen only a very few summers. They did not speak nor stop at all. But their message was clear.

The stories had been true - there really had been Elves in the forest.

And they were leaving.


	31. It's A Living

The tourists listen and then drop coins that will provide him with food and a shelter for the next night into the leather-covered case. It is all he requires.

How long he's been there, playing that lap harp with burn-scarred hands and singing songs that make the tourists gather round to listen over and over again, nobody else in the sleepy little seaside town remembers.

He rarely speaks to anyone, but when he does, his voice is sweet and rich. "Mac" they call him - sometimes "damned hippy" because of his hair.

Mostly they leave him alone.

He prefers that.


	32. Approaching Doom

Food had been scarce lately. The few orcs who had stumbled on the tunnels and thought them a refuge had been taken, one by one; but the last had been drained weeks ago, and she hungered again.

And yet, she didn't dare go far. That creature with his glowing stinger had done... something... more than just damaged an eye. And the fresh air outside the lair was unpleasant and difficult to breathe. With her Master gone, life was hard.

And when many tired eyes saw the number of warriors flowing through the eastern entrance, Shelob knew her doom had come.


	33. Haven

"I thought your kind had all left."

Radagast smiled. "Of my brothers in the east, I have no word. Olórin is gone home - and Curunir destroyed. I, however, remain." His smile widened. "As do you, Majesty. Why?"

"The Sea does not call me."

"As for me, I hear the call of Ennor. Her need will grow great in time."

Thranduil's eyes narrowed. "Why have you come here?"

"I offer an exchange of sorts. I ask only for a haven in which to rest in winter, in exchange for permanent protection for you and your people from the Second-born."

"Done."


	34. Catching Up

Elladan watched loving fingers trace the outlines of the face that graced the parchment. He knew very well how much Míriel had looked like his sister - her mother - at that stage, from the determined set to the jaw to the rebellious twinkle in the eye.

With reluctance, the page was passed into more delicate hands that eagerly awaited it.

"She has Arwen's look about her," Celebrían whispered.

"She does, and yet I see Estel too," Elrond agreed. He reached for the next sketch.

Elrohir grinned in anticipation. "Just wait until you get a glimpse of her little sister!"


	35. Fresh Start

With no warning, the very ground began to shake and the air of the city filled with the keening of those in fear of their lives.

Alatar dashed outside his hall, set on a rise overlooking the sprawling city, just in time to see the tall, dark spires of the central temple dedicated to the Dark Lord tip in upon themselves and come crashing down, killing all caught within the dark walls.

A cleaner air lifted white hair and billowed blue robes. The wizard smiled, knowing his time had come.

At last _his_ work - and Pallando's - could begin.


	36. Last Visit

Through Eldarion's childhood, and even those years of his youth that he'd spent in Imladris with them and their regal and reclusive grandfather, his uncles had symbolized joy and happiness, greeting him and his sisters with huge smiles and bubbling laughter.

This visit was different. Had his mother's passing been that difficult for them?

Their gazes were loving but somber, their smiles wide but with a layer of sadness that made Eldarion ask worriedly. "Is all well with you?"

As usual, Elladan spoke first. "We are here to bid you farewell. We sail with the next ship into the West."


	37. Foreboding

It began as a nuisance shudder of foreboding, as if trying to draw his attention away from the easy victory his vastly superior forces were winning. It built into a wave of unceasing dread; so much about this final conflict had not gone according to plan. He was missing something - what was it?

A hoarse cry rang out from the wrong direction, defiant, challenging. What had been dread now became fear, directing protective Nazgul toward the heart of the mountain.

Then came the wave of searing, cleansing flame - and all that had been Sauron scattered to the winds.


	38. Are You Certain

Thranduil gazed at the dwarf standing at the bow of the ship, obviously ill at ease. "Are you certain of this, my son?"

"It is his idea," Legolas said quietly. "He fears I should fade if I try to remain until he too steps beyond the circles of the world. He worries not of his own welfare, only that I follow the Call before that."

"He is brave," Thranduil allowed, "and a good friend."

"You should tell him that sometime."

"I already have," Thranduil answered, raising his hand in a farewell that was immediately returned.

"I wish you would come with us," Legolas stated wistfully.

"Who would remain to lead those who trickle out of forests and glens that are all but abandoned by the Eldar now, were I to take Ship?" Thranduil shook his head. "My place is here, beneath my trees."

"I will miss you."

"And I you, my son. May the _Belain_ guide your way to the Straight Road and beyond. Give my love to your mother."

"Will you come someday?"

Thranduil drew his son into his arm for one last embrace, then backed away quickly. "Twilight comes. You must cast off."

"Farewell, Father."

"Farewell, my son."


	39. Renamed

He stood amidst the destruction as his people scrambled to extinguish the fires that had turned this, the darkest corner of Mirkwood, into ashes. Charred and naked branches scratched futilely at a smoke-filled sky or stretched toward their fellows in mute pleas for help.

Suddenly, from overhead came the cry of one of the great eagles, and the air seemed cleaner, the smoke not so oppressive, as he sang the unbelievable news. Victory! Sauron defeated!

_From destruction, the Greenwood would rise again,_ Thranduil promised. No – The Greenwood needed a new name for this new beginning. _Eryn Lasgalen._ Wood of Greenleaves.


	40. Screams

The enraged, disbelieving scream of my Master made me turn and fly towards Orodruin, and my seven remaining companions had the same reaction. Something terrible was happening within the flaming mountain; we needed to get there before then.

But what? Mordor was, and always had been, impenetrable.

Then reality shifted. From the Master came a scream of rage that ripped the sanity from me; from the ground, the rumble of breaking stone echoed as the great tower toppled.

As I fell from the sky, I remembered my true name - and screamed my joy at being free again at last.


	41. Judgment

He stirred, surprised to awaken again. All too vividly he remembered falling from the sky as Orodruin exploded, screaming his joy at finally being free from the Dark Lord's control, at remembering who he really was.

He looked about him at grey, unsettling nothingness. What was going to happen now?

The sound of a door being unbarred shattered the unnerving silence. Resigned, exhausted by the weight of his unnatural life, he rose to his feet to face what was ahead. He surely now would pay the price for listening to Annatar - for his complicity in the fall of Númenor, for his hounding of that little hobbit - and he was glad. He had done unspeakable things, unable to refuse the Dark Lord's bidding. He deserved whatever was to come.

He wasn't ready to see a door open in the featureless grey, and he blinked at the glory of the sunrise that bathed a green hillside beyond the threshold. He'd ignored such beauty before, and forgotten it during centuries of endless, groveling servitude. What _was _this?

But it was the welcoming smile of his long-dead wife, waiting for him with their drowned sons, that finally drove him to his knees.


	42. Second Thoughts

Celeborn looked around the circle of faces ringing the campfire. "We should have stayed."

Elrond shook his head. "I could not."

"Perhaps not you, but _we _should have," Elladan stated, nodding agreement with his grandfather.

"We only exist here. On Arda, we _lived_." Elrohir added solemnly

"I cannot believe I say this, but perhaps Fëanor had it right. Things are too perfect here. The only thing that raises people's ire is politics." Glorfindel grumbled. "And I have had enough of _that_ to last until the breaking of the world."

Elrond sighed. "Even I feel this. As coarse as were the _edain_, their lives moved forward. Back then, I saw that as a curse, but now I can see that it was a way to keep the days fresh. In Aman, we live too much in the past."

"Idleness wearies me greatly," Legolas spoke finally. "Were it not that the way is shut, I would again be building a ship."

"But the way _is_ shut," Erestor observed. "So what do we do now?"

"There are new and unexplored lands to the west," Gildor suggested.

"Will the Valar let us go?" Haldir asked.

"They had better," Thranduil stated flatly. "They had better."


	43. Burdens

She hurt.

Why she hadn't faded, she couldn't tell. She'd wanted to the moment the first Dark one touched her. Instead, she survived.

And she remembered…

NO! She heard the breath of her beloved, sitting close and chafing her hand, catch painfully. He knew her thoughts so well; in healing her, he'd have to have seen… to have known it all.

She refused to inflict her memories on him again. This was her burden. His burden, unfortunately, would be to finish the fight alone.

She'd have to sail; so when he finally came West, he'd see her whole again. Alive.


	44. Rainy Day

Of course, every day in Aman couldn't be pure sunshine. For all the beautiful grass and trees to grow, rain was needed.

Elrond gazed thoughtfully out the rain-dampened window of the home that Celebrían had built for him while she awaited his arrival. Far enough from the city to be surrounded by woods and gardens, Barvedui was as peaceful and restful as Imladris had ever been, without the ever-present worries. Still, on days like this, his mind would wander... home.

Fifty years had passed. What were they doing now? How many grandchildren had been born?

Was it raining there too?


	45. Aftermath

Thranduil leaned heavily on his sword, too heartsick to be affected by the carnage before him. The Alliance had finally accomplished what they'd set out to do - but at a horrific price. His father, uncle, brother and only son were all dead, victims of Oropher's distrust of Gil-Galad. The number still living wearing blood-spattered Greenwood armor was pitifully small.

Now desperate messengers called on him to aid Elrond in convincing Isildur to destroy the One Ring, but his heart wasn't in it. He'd already given everything that he had to give.

All he wanted now was to go home.


	46. Alone

As a child, Eldarion had believed he could see forever from the balcony atop of Ecthelion's Tower. Lately it had become a refuge from courtiers currying favor in the new court.

Today it was a lonesome perch from which he could watch the last of his Elven family leave. He'd hoped they would wait, stay and offer him their wisdom. But no, this had been their final visit.

His uncles and great-grandfather were leaving Middle-earth forever - sailing with Círdan on the last ship from the Grey Havens. And he, Eldarion Telcontar, would be truly alone for the first time.


	47. Sentinel

Bregon sighed.

The monotony of knowing that one could sleep away one's entire duty turn at the top of a mountain without incident was mind-numbing. To be sent here was to be forgotten. Six of them there were, condemned to sit high and safe - and bored - while the darkness of the East drew ever closer. Here they would wait for a signal that would never come, that had not been sent in centuries.

Would they even know when Gondor fell?

It had been a long day, and the time drew near for him to wake Himdir and Durben for their watch. But habit - and a tired sense of duty - made him cast his eye toward the southern mountaintop first.

A flame! In generations, such had not been seen. Gondor called for aid!

He ran for the pyre, knowing himself no longer a forgotten man. For this had he been born - and never knew it. He might never see the battlefield, or hear his name sung in any lays.

But the blow he'd strike this day would resonate through the Ages.

With a glad shout, he tipped the oil onto the wood and tossed his torch.


	48. Forgotten

Dead leaves skitter aimlessly across walkways no longer kept swept, gathering in messy clumps at the base of overgrown shrubs that obstruct windows. Barren, untamed branches stretch toward a grey sky.

A library door stands ajar, disclosing a room filled with empty, lonesome shelves covered in a thick layer of dust. Nothing disturbs the powder on the marble floor - not a single sign indicates that anything living dwells here anymore.

Graceful pillars, carved balustrades, curved staircases, empty windows, darkened doorways; everything once elegant and serene stands forgotten, decaying.

Like a dying dream, Imladris fades from the memories of Men.


	49. Popcorn

Long fingers lifted the white nugget to his lips, and he smiled as the tease of melted butter enhanced the subtle flavor. He wondered if the Noldoran cooks in Aman had ever figured out what other, amazing things could be done with kernels of corn; or if Legolas even now might be sharing in such a treat.

Long gone were the days of singing and dancing beneath the stars. The world of Men had grown, aged, encroached, trespassed and finally overrun his realm; and he had been forced to disguise his different nature and begin to move among them as one of them.

It was the hardest thing he'd ever done.

He'd done well, however. Treasure he had amassed that hadn't been spent on clothing, housing and providing for his people before their departure later went to purchase privacy, adequate unquestioning servants, and interest in endeavors that did not violate his sensibilities.

And now, finally home from a long day watching over the enterprises that cared for the land he still considered home and ready to relax, Thranduil flicked on the TV and settled down with his popcorn and the remote control.

Maybe a movie, or a good nature documentary?


	50. Remade

For nearly an Age, I was broken. Not entirely without use or capable of inflicting harm; certainly Isildur was able to use just the very bit of me to the world's great advantage. But for generations now, I have been hauled from one end of Middle-earth to the other, a wreck that served only as a reminder of what had been and what could be again - someday.

But they took me - those Elves who saw to my fashioning so long ago - and they have remade me. A new name I wear: Andúril.

Now, let the Enemy beware!


	51. Farewell For Now

It didn't seem possible.

They had worked side by side for nearly two Ages of the World, caring for the line of Eärendil. Never had it entered their minds that they would not make this final voyage together as well.

"Do not wait long, you pompous Vanya." Erestor grumbled as he embraced Glorfindel. "Aman will seem very empty without your pretension."

"Enjoy the respite, my stubborn friend," Glorfindel grinned and hugged him tightly. "I give you my oath that I will follow soon after. Watch over Elrond and his lady for me."

"I shall," Erestor promised and boarded the ship.


	52. Awakening

I awaken.

Something stirs in the empty places within the mountain above me, something I have not sensed for Ages of the world.

Not the small ones, who awake me with their hammers and their shovels and dump dirt and dust on my head - those I can blast into ashes with a single breath. Not the other small ones, who clammer and skitter and chatter and fight among themselves until I cannot stand the din - those I blast into ashes regularly, because they never seem to learn.

No. This is different. A challenge I dare not refuse.

Olórin.


	53. Change of Heart

It couldn't be!

Still, there was no mistaking the golden head at the rudder of the small boat that approached the dock of Avalonë. In a craft of edain construct, he had done it - crossed the Sundering Sea.

For the first time in the years since Gimli's departure, Legolas felt something besides grief and loss. At his side, he felt his mother shift in excitement, likely wishing that the little boat would move faster.

Finally, the boat was moored, and its pilot safely ashore.

"I didn't think you'd come."

"I didn't either," Thranduil said, and gathered his family close.


	54. Are We There Yet?

"Are we there yet, Ada?"

Aragorn sighed. "Does it look like we're there yet, _ion_?"

"But how soon? I wanna see Unca El'dan and Unca Elro'r!"

"I'm certain they want to see you too, but Imladris is on the other side of these mountains."

"Why can't we just run the horses up the path and down again?"

"Patience, _ion_. We'll be there soon enough."

The silence stretched, and a glance told Aragorn that his son had fallen asleep. He glanced at Arwen, carrying their infant daughter. Her smile warmed him.

Then, mumbled against his tunic…

"Are we there yet, Ada?"


	55. Lost and Found

He roused, seeking It yet not finding. Where was It? Where was _he_? Where was Its weight 'round his neck? Where was Its voice in his mind, his heart?

Hot rocks singed him and gave no rest, no haven. Memories of putting It on, of Gollum's teeth biting It off - they were lies, weren't they? It had fallen into fire - hadn't _he_?

Lost without It, he wandered into a grey land of shadow and nightmare.

A sweet voice called forth, one that found Frodo and called him back to who he was: a mere hobbit of the Shire.


	56. Gone

Such a little thing - a breath drawn in, and then gently escaping - and yet, so life-altering in power. With that one breath, everything that made this world worthwhile evaporated.

How had her father managed for so long before seeking refuge with her mother? How long would _she_ remain, now that her reason to live had escaped with that one, gentle breath?

She would go home to Lothlorien, home to where they had found each other. There she'd find him again, somehow, beyond the circles of the world.

Arwen rose and turned away, accepting her own mortality at last.


	57. Determined

He stared at the bandage-wrapped lump that should have been his right hand and glared. He was tired of the looks, of the pity. For days he'd questioned whether he should be angry or grateful that he'd been rescued.

What good was a warrior with a useless sword-arm?

He picked up his sword with his left hand, and found it was heavy, unwieldy. He tried to swing it and nearly dropped it. He knew _what_ to do, but the muscles refused to cooperate.

Maedhros swung again, now fiercely determined. He'd learned once; he could learn again, and better than before.


	58. Different

She gazed at them, standing amid the festive crowd when all she could do was bring herself to sit at the sidelines at events such as this. The Pride of Númenor, they called the King and his Steward, still in their prime, enjoying a lifespan twice that of normal mortals. As for the Queen, she was of the Firstborn and had not aged at all in the past fifty-three years.

But Éowyn knew herself to be different. Already her joints ached and her silver-threaded hair thinned. No matter how she loved Faramir, she would grow old alone at his side.


	59. The Harp

"No. Leave that."

Erestor turned, the lap harp still in his hands. It was a beautiful instrument, crafted by Maglor well over an Age before and gifted to a young Elrond when he had been accepted into Gil-Galad's household. He could clearly remember many evenings in the Hall of Fire, when Elrond had accompanied his wife on the harp as she had sung, or times when the entire family had joined together with flute and harp and tambor and lute and voice. Surely he didn't mean to leave this treasure here!! "My lord?"

"Leave it." Elrond reiterated and then shook his head. "It calls forth too many memories I would rather leave behind," he stated quietly and then turned away.

Erestor knew that Elrond was sensitive to any mention of Maglor or his childhood with the sons of Fëanor. He had scrupulously removed all reminders of those years from his home, but had kept the harp through the Ages despite everything. For him to change his mind now…

No. Erestor wouldn't allow the weariness and grief that was now overwhelming his lord to give rise to later regrets.

The blankets would hide and protect the harp. But it was coming.


	60. Unexpected

Elrond stared down into the box. He'd told them not to pack it for the voyage.

He bent down and carefully pulled the lap harp from its cushioning bed of fabrics and bed linens. The inlaid mithril sparkled in the clear light of the Undying Lands, the design as graceful and beautiful as when Maglor had given it to him.

For half a millennium, he hadn't been able to touch it, to bear the sight of it. Now…

In the next room, Celebrían hummed as she unpacked. Elrond sat and, as his fingers touched the strings, began to smile again.


	61. Persistent

How swiftly the long-years had flown! Fëanor, Elrond, Galadriel, Morgoth - even Sauron - such names were long forgotten now.

In the scattered towns of the Second-Born, the Elvenking was a myth used to frighten small children into staying out of a dangerous forest. He would appear just often enough to keep the stories alive; it amused him to do so.

Few of the Eldar remained, but those who did had sought out his hidden hall long ago. There, the old songs were still sung, and the old ways honored.

Let the Second-Born flourish; Eryn Lasgalen still belonged to Thranduil.


	62. Haunted

Something tall and golden stepped from the depths of the Cursed Wood; in its arms a child feared lost for days. It waited for someone to dare approach before finally bending and freeing the child.

A gentle push sent the child running straight for the arms of her mother, to be gathered close with a soft cry. The mother stared as the fair-faced one straightened and watched for an endless moment before turning and disappearing once more.

The tale spread that the stories of Eryn Lasgalen were true, and not inventions to frighten children. The old woods really _were_ haunted!


	63. Not Again!

Eru!

The last thing he needed was to find a lost child wandering in the darker parts of Eryn Lasgalen at twilight. Again.

He could return the child himself; pick it up and walk to the cottages and let it go running back to its mother. He'd probably scare it out of a year's growth... With any luck, however, the tale arising from this encounter would keep the forest clear of intruders for a few more decades.

He liked the sound of that.

Thranduil stepped silently from behind the oak, determined to play legend for yet another generation of mortals.


	64. Not Yet

"Do you think she's angry?"

"Galadriel?" Celeborn smiled up at his old friend. "Furious, more like. What about Minuial?"

After waiting for him for more than three Ages of the World - how _would_ his wife feel? "Probably the same." Thranduil sighed. "So... What do you think?"

"Not yet."

"Agreed." Each time they agreed, it was a relief.

"But one day, right?"

"Yes."

"Same time next year?" Celeborn rose and brushed dust from his trousers.

"Wouldn't miss it."

"_Navaër, mellon nîn_."

"_Navaër_."

Together they walked back to their respective cars, and returned to a world that still needed their efforts.


	65. Foundation

Elrond looked about him and nodded in satisfaction. "This will do," he informed Gil-Galad's lieutenant. "This will do very nicely."

It was an extraordinarily beautiful place. The Bruinen tumbled from the Hithaeglir into a narrow gorge via several waterfalls; and the music of the falling water gave an air of peace to the hidden valley filled with tall, graceful trees. The approach was treacherous and difficult to find, something that could prove useful in a stronghold.

"What will you call it?" the lieutenant asked.

"Imladris," Elrond replied, "and my home shall be the Last Homely House East of the Sea."


	66. Habit

As he did every morning, Legolas walked out his front door and stared eastward, toward the dawning sun.

Was Eldarion still alive? Did Ithilien still flourish? The Shire? Eryn Lasgalen?

Would his father ever join him here?

As he had for the last decade, he then turned and looked up the hill, toward the rowan tree he'd planted at it's crest. He didn't need to see the low bench - or the stone carved with Gimli's name that marked the grave there.

"Legolas, come in and break your fast."

She'd come to know him well at long last.

"Coming, Naneth…"


	67. That Which Remains

The shelves looked empty; much of their contents had been lovingly stored in the crates now stacked near the library door. Blank spots on walls announced where portraits of those who would remain behind now leaned against walls in catalogued stacks.

Elrond walked slowly through his home, his refuge, feeling every missing portrait, tapestry, statue and book. He was leaving little behind for Estel, for his grandchildren and posterity beyond. But he _was_ leaving behind his most fervent hope.

And that hope was that when Glorfindel finally sailed, he would bring Elladan and Elrohir - the real treasures of Imladris.


	68. The Last Ship

Elrond knew he wasn't alone in his excitement; he could feel Celebrían's shiver of anticipation. They had waited centuries, begun to grieve that it would never happen - and one word from Olórin had turned their world upside-down.

"There!" Elrond stretched out his arm to guide his wife's gaze. They joined hands and ran to the docks and pushed through the throng to wait next to Erestor and Galadriel, who never failed to greet every ship to arrive from Ennor.

The spot became a ship, and then grew larger than any had expected. Murmurs trickled through the crowd as the ship dropped its sail and began to slow; at the wheel was Cirdan. Worry and excitement washed over everyone; who had taken this last ship? Who remained behind, lost forever?

Many exhausted elves disembarked one by one, each met at the bottom of the gangplank by weeping, elated friends and family. Only when they thought none left aboard did four heads appear near Cirdan - two dark, one golden, one silver.

Elladan, Elrohir, Glorfindel, Celeborn - they all had come home! His family was whole again!

Elrond felt the weight of worry drop away, and he could breathe at last.


	69. Whispers

Elrond shuddered as Frodo presented the Ring to the Council. The last time he'd seen it, it had hung on the end of a chain of gold around Isildur's neck; weregild, the Mortal had claimed.

And yet whispers at the back of his mind insisted darkly that the Ring should come to _him; his_ King's death was no less a grievous loss than that of a Mortal father!

_It is _mine_. Think of the good I could do…_

Elrond hadn't listened to whispers long ago; he wouldn't listen now. "We must send the Ring to the Fire,"* he declared firmly.

* Quote taken directly from The Lord of the Rings, The Fellowship of the Ring, "The Council of Elrond"


	70. Transplant

Gentle and reverent were the hands that lifted it from the shallow, rocky ground into which Yavanna had planted it.

Glad and sustaining were the songs that accompanied it down the mountain.

Still humming with a soft refrain of the one who came before was the ground at the very top of the white stone city.

Hopeful was the man who visited every day, bringing water and song and respect and gratitude as nourishment.

And so, on a day when even the very air vibrated with joy and renewal, the last scion of Nimloth brought forth its very first blossom.


	71. Monument

The waters are still now. Atop and between the waves, small pieces of wood and debris float forlornly. Where once a mighty fleet sat proudly, nothing remains. Dust hangs heavy in the air where the sides of the Calacirya fell.

And in the distance, where once a beautiful land once sat surrounded by cerulean blue skies and deep seas, only the blackened top of the highest peak still remains. Devoid of glacial snow and decorative foliage, it still steams and smokes in memory of cataclysm.

A monument to presumption and betrayal, Meneltarma stands alone. And beyond it, a new horizon.


	72. Deadly Challenge

Ar-Pharazôn lifted his sword to urge his army forward into the gap in the mountains when he heard a strange rushing sound from behind him. Turning, he saw his grand fleet of ships spinning helplessly, pulled away from shore. A distant roaring told of an even greater cataclysm.

With an involuntary shudder, he turned again toward the Calacirya. His goal was too close to stop now. Immortality, and the wealth of the Ages, was almost within his grasp.

But Annatar had not told him that none challenged the Valar and lived. The earth trembled violently, and then the rocks fell.


	73. Rescue

I knew something had happened. The oppressiveness lifted, as if a heavy protection had been withdrawn and a weakness exposed; the air itself grew lighter, with hints of painful, freshness. The dark ones forgot me, forgot us all; their snarls now were for one another.

Then the dark ones left me utterly alone. For the first time in any memory I wanted to examine, there were no whips, no cudgels, no pincers, no brands. I could hear a dull roar far away; it lasted a long time until all was silent. I was silent too, too terrified to whimper.

Then the stones screamed and the ground shook, and I feared and hoped that the end and blessed release had finally come. But then the dark ceiling above my head opened up, and the cruel sun burned my eyes. I saw but one flash of vivid, brutal blue before I fell with my face to the floor, screaming.

Their hands were gentle, but gave as much pain as the dark ones had. Once more I was denied release to Mandos' Halls. I know not how to live in this new world, and those who found me will not let me die.


	74. Defeated

Surely this pale woman sitting with the slumped shoulders of utter defeat couldn't be her daughter!

Galadriel turned her eyes to her heart-son, demanding of him what she had been demanding of herself for the entirety of the journey from Lothlórien. Surely the two most powerful Elves in all of Ennor could protect the life of such a precious being! Surely his skill could bring her back to life again! Surely...

Any intent to castigate died the moment she caught sight of Elrond's grief.

"She wishes to go West," he pronounced slowly, as if each word were a death knell.


	75. Reawakening

He looked around, amazed.

This was his hall, his home; the carvings as familiar as his own hand. Around him stood his warriors, with looks of wonder on their faces as if they had not seen his like in a long time. And who was this, at his feet, head bowed and sword offered up? Éomer? And what was Gandalf asking?

His hand crept to the hilt and grasped it with fingers that tightened as strength and clarity returned.

Théoden lifted the sword high. He was still the King. There was still time for hope.

The shout echoed: "Theoden King!"


	76. Triumph

He thought he'd seen the pinnacle of his life.

He'd had a happy childhood, safe from everything that could have harmed him. He'd been trained by the best to prepare for the worst life could throw at him. He'd spent years in the Wild, journeying across the land, even into places that do not welcome strangers easily.

He had fought against the darkness and despair that threatened to overwhelm his world, and in the end, prevailed. He had won everything that he had ever thought could be his.

Then Arwen handed him his newborn son, and Aragorn knew real triumph.


	77. What Now?

"What word?"

The servant kneeling before him trembled. "King Eärnur did ride forth to put an end to the evil of Angband once and for all."

"Did he have his guard around him?"

The servant shook his head. "The challenge was to single combat, my lord. He made them stay back."

This was dire news indeed. "What did you see?"

"An ill wind arose that whipped the very dust from the ground and hid the King. When it cleared, there was no sign of him."

"My lord Steward, what do we do now?"

Mardil gazed around him, stunned. What indeed!


	78. Introductions

"Come in! Come in! Very welcome!"

Elladan glanced at Elrohir and then entered the little hut. Arathorn seemed giddy, such a change from the stern Dúnadan or the battle-hardened warrior they were used to seeing.

"Gilraen, meet the sons of Elrond: Elladan and Elrohir," Arathorn continued and then beckoned them closer. "My wife, Gilraen. And my son, Aragorn."

Elladan saw the slight woman with the gold hair move to expose the bundle she cradled in her arms. He exchanged a startled glance with Elrohir and moved forward until he could peer down into clear grey that gazed back sleepily.

And he reeled as his mind filled with images – images of a child running through… through Imladris? Of a young man on horseback, dark hair held by warrior braids in the Imladhren fashion, and of a hand on a familiar sword hilt – a hand that bore the emerald, silver and gold ring Arathorn himself bore. Of a winged crown...

"Are you well?" Elrohir asked in a very soft whisper.

Elladan let his forefinger trace the softness of the infant's cheek. "I am not sure," he whispered back, but then straightened. "Our congratulations, Dúnadan. Gilraen. And _suilad_ to you too, little one."


	79. Moving On

Celeborn gazed sadly down into the heart of what had once been a bustling Elven capital. Already several of the mellyrn were failing, including the one that sheltered his home. Time had once more found Calas Galadhon, and it was not kind.

Taking a deep breath, he turned his mount. In a line that stretched back into the trees of the city, the remaining Galadhrim sat or stood, waiting for his signal.

He would not look back; she was not there. Only dreams and memories remained. He gave the signal and slowly led his people towards Imladris, and the future.


	80. Reverie

Your mother should be here to see you now, with your crown, the white staff, and Narsil reforged.

Gilraen never knew, as she spoke of your father to you over the years the way she did, that I saw not Arathorn in your face as you grew into manhood. In the way you lift your chin when you face a challenge, the way you tip your head to the side when you don't quite understand, the glint in your eye when you plot mischief against your deserving brothers - I saw Elros.

Like Elros, you stand at the threshold of founding a new legacy, as fine and lofty as any which have come before. You have earned the crown, the staff and the sword. I am proud of you, my son. So very proud.

And only to such a one would I entrust the life and happiness of my greatest treasure. I look into her eyes and know that this is as was meant to be. But I know my Undómiel takes with her the last of the happiness I have to give to this world.

I shall celebrate, for this day; and I will grieve for you both forever.


	81. Unbelievable

Unbelievable!

For four hundred years, It had languished in places dank and dark and very far from The Master, suffering the declining sanity of the little creature who had claimed It; four hundred years had passed since instigating murder as Its first act of mayhem in one and a half millennia.

Finally, It could take the wait no longer, and had escaped the creature Gollum - although not far enough. Years It had lain in the dusty rubble on the cavern floor. And when the chance for freedom and return came, where did It end up?

In a hobbit's pocket.


	82. News

It was the question he hadn't wanted to ask, and one that he knew they least wanted to answer. It was the source of their pain; that it had to come out was obvious.

"Tell me." Elrond reached for Celebrían's hand and held tight.

And they did. Of Arwen's children and grandchildren, of how sad and empty she had become when Estel left her, of the silent journey to Lothlorien. Of the mound at Cerin Amroth.

"She was glad to go with him, Ada. And believe it or not, in the end, there was joy."

Now they could all heal.


	83. All Ashore

"All ashore," Galion called, tossing the rope to the dock.

Thranduil grumbled at his cheerful tone. Two hours from Mithlond, he'd learned that he was no sailor. He'd been sick or queasy the entire journey, too often tipped over the side.

But he'd made it. Somewhere on either this green isle or the cloud-shrouded land beyond were his wife and son: pieces of his life that he couldn't live without anymore, reasons to live.

"Let's find our loved ones," he replied, shouldering his pack. "And I shall never board another boat again."

"Never say 'never'," Galion laughed heartily. "Lead on."


	84. Training

"Now remember, my son, what you are about to see is a treasure left us from the days of the Old Kings. If, later on, you have questions about it, best you find time to ask me privately. You do not discuss this with your sisters, nor even Elboron - is that clear?"

"Yes, Adar."

Elessar smiled at the sober, respectful tone. At twenty-five, Eldarion was already well on his way to proving himself more than worthy. And when the time came, knowing _this_ skill would be essential.

He pulled aside the silk cover. "This, my son, is a _palantir…_"


	85. Once Treasured

It sat, as it always had – as it would until the walls crumbled and the world ended.

Covered with dust that long ago used to be a fine silk cloth, it nestled into the depression carved into the pedestal. It had once sat upon another pedestal, known another home. It no longer mattered; that place no longer existed, just as this place no longer mattered to anyone.

Once treasured, it had been a well-kept secret from all but those who had ruled the land, or those who had long ago left these shores. Ages it had now been since anyone had braved the narrow spiral stairs to the tiny, circular room. Ages since the narrow casement windows had let in fresh, clean air.

In the depths of the polished stone, visions of places and times and peoples long vanished from this world swirled without purpose. From time to time, echoes of a long-extinguished fire would erupt, but the perfect sphere was merely an agent, unaffected by either the echo or anything else it demonstrated. Visions of beauty, cruelty, war and happiness danced in its dark depths.

But it had always been the fate of the last palantir to be forgotten.


	86. Point of No Return

"Try it on."

Cautiously he lifted the Ring from the outstretched palm, bemused by the play of light within the dark jewel. Tendrils of gold and mithril held it securely onto the wide band, nothing like the signet ring his father wore that would go to his older brother who always got _everything_.

He slipped it on, worried that its size would make it unwieldy. Of course it was beautiful – everything Elven-made _was_ – but he hadn't thought it would fit him as perfectly as it did. One would think the Ring had sized itself to his hand. And it was light, almost as if it weren't there…

But the world that opened to him the moment he'd slipped it onto his forefinger was unbelievable! The Ring _had_ to be magic! Suddenly the way to the power and riches that always lay just beyond his reach was clear!

He looked up with an eager smile at the one who called himself Annatar. "I like it!"

"Then come. I would like to speak to you further, in private."

He followed Annatar, forgetting his wife and son completely as he pushed past them. He had more important things to do now, after all.


	87. Revenge

Wood piled high before the entrance to the cave, with dried leaves and brush beneath, waited for the fiery brand. A finger wetted and lifted to the breezes confirmed that the smoke would roll into the cave.

Scattered throughout the rocky landscape, the Dúnedain Rangers were awaiting the signal, arrows already nocked. This time, there were more of them than of the _yrch_ hiding from the sun in the cave.

Elladan's gaze connected with his brother's, igniting both in dark anticipation. _For Naneth_, they agreed. Elladan's flaming arrow arched and dropped, and the world erupted into noisy, bloody vengeance.

Again.


	88. Undone

When the mountain growled, Sauron knew something was wrong.

In the next moment, a thrill of excitement and pain ran through him that could only be the nearness of his treasure in a place of great danger: _inside_ the mountain where he had crafted it so long ago.

No!

With a thought, he forced his riders to abandon their attack on the pitiful forces at his gates and deal with this greater, subtler menace.

But it was too late.

The scream of pain as the Ring disintegrated was only echoed by his own scream of fury and betrayal. How had this happened? His was the greater force, the more clever strategy! And yet, now all was undone.

His connection to the greater part of himself – everything he'd invested into the Ring –evaporated in the little space between one moment and the next, and the tower beneath him begin to collapse. When the mountain exploded, and chaos and death engulfed his armies without mercy, he knew there would be no escape this time.

All that he had been, and all that he had planned, shattered into a million bits, to be swept away through the merciless gate and into the Void.


	89. Keeping Tradition

"They've taken Eldarion to the balcony outside Estel's private study. They intend to teach him to smoke pipeweed."

Legolas suddenly understood Arwen's apparent ill mood. "Why in Arda would they want to do _that_?"

Arwen sighed. "It was decided at lunch today. Gimli was commenting that a Dwarf of Eldarion's station and relative age would already own a pipe or two of his own. And you know Estel..."

Legolas nodded. "Still..."

The sound of running feet, choking and then sickened heaving came down the hall.

"Maybe that will be one tradition that doesn't get passed along after all!" he grinned.


	90. Lies

They lied to us!

They said they would help us flee the filthy Elveses, to get back to a nice, dark, wet cave where we could eat all the fisheses we could catch. Yes, they did, Precious!

But they lied - filthy black-skinned, black-hearted orcses. They didn't let us go in the nice dark cave - no! They took off the elf rope that burns us and put on chains instead. And they brought us here, and they hurt us until we _had_ to say what we knew.

_Who has the Precious?_

"Baggins!"

_And where do we find him?_

"Shire!"


	91. Restoration

He looked out on a valley filled with twisted and stunted trees that still offered a plaintive hint of green hinting at an ailing but unbroken spirit. Silence surrounded him; despite the warmth of the summer breezes, not a single bird's song could be heard.

Beside him, Faramir could feel his Elven companion stirring in sympathy and concern.

"It would take much work to restore," he affirmed, sweeping his hand across the vista eloquently. "Can it even be done?"

"Aye," Legolas replied, squatting to run his fingers through soil that held the promise of new life. "Ithilien shall bloom again."


	92. Homesick

Minas Tirith didn't smell bad… just wrong.

Nothing here smelled of green, growing things or fresh, clean water. Few trees grew except for one or two in the gardens closest to the Citadel, little grass but in small patches in those same gardens. The only flowers to be seen bloomed in hanging pots, welcome splashes of color to greet the eyes and occasional wafts of scent for the nose. Otherwise, Minas Tirith smelled of stone and little else.

It sounded wrong too. A monotonous hum of people moving from one place to another, speaking to each other, of carts and horses moving over stone streets, and dogs barking and yipping filled the air with mindless cacophony, with solemn bells tolling the hours. No songs lifted the spirit city-wide nor told the time with melody and rhythm. Here, most music was a formal affair, not spontaneous.

Arwen sighed and laid her chin on her right arm as she sat looking out the window. Her left hand rested gently on the swell of her belly where her son waited to be born. Estel was here, and she was happy to be with him, but this wasn't Imladris or Lothlórien.

It wasn't _home_.


	93. Arrival

He walked toward her slowly, his grey eyes wide with amazement.

Believing she could heal had been the only way he could continue with his appointed task. But then, he'd once believed in his own abilities, and they had failed miserably. Even now, he couldn't help but compare the thin, pale, lifeless creature that had left him with the vibrant, living, smiling, joyful beauty before him now.

"Our children..." he began sadly.

She shook her head. "Later, my love. For now, I am content to have you with me."

And Elrond found peace at long last in his wife's arms.


	94. Shieldmaiden

The pole at the end of the field had a small bristle of Legolas' arrows protruding from it. Gimli smiled when he saw Aragorn's oldest daughter watching with a determined look, and yet stepped up to her with a frown on his face. "What are you doing here, Míriel?"

"Eldarion is learning; I want to learn too. Mother learned, Éowyn..."

"In times of peace, there's no need for women to fight."

"Times of peace have beginnings and ends." Princess and dwarf looked up, startled. Legolas had joined them. "We shall speak to your father, and then I will teach you."


	95. The Final Farewell

The day was young, the breezes warm, and the glade private. The horses grazed close by, enjoying the tall, summer-sweet grass.

All they could do was stare at each other.

All arguments were finished, no need remained to revisit that which could no longer be changed. The dreaded choice had been made, the terms he had laid forth had been met. The deed had been accomplished, already she was... diminished... and yet so much more than she had been before.

Time grew short. He left for Imladris the next day.

But how to tell her goodbye - a goodbye as final as the one he'd never given Elros?

He gazed at her, his beloved Undómiel, whom he had believed would travel with him across the sea in the end. She still loved him dearly - but she loved Estel more.

Estel made her happy - and would give her children. And even though constrained to mortality, through her, the life of the Eldar would never entirely vanish from the face of Arda.

Elrond opened his arms to his daughter, and held her tightly. These final moments together would have to last him into eternity.

No words would mar their farewell.


	96. Looking Forward

Gildor looked about the shelter.

For over two Ages, his people had found this cave and occupied it while the snows made it too difficult to travel. The curved roof of rock had blackened with the soot of numberless cooking fires; the rocks that bordered the fire pits had darkened with repeated usage.

His people had been happy, moving from place to place and enjoying the life of the Wild - as had been the nature of the Eldar of long ago. He did not regret their ways.

And now he wondered, would they be allowed to wander in Valinor?


	97. Homecoming

"Keep your eyes shut…"

"Cel'…" Elrond protested. Celebrían had been anxious and excited the entire trip, and now demanded he close his eyes?

"Please …" Her melodious voice plead. "Humor me for but a little while longer."

She had done so much for him already since his arrival, it was impossible to deny her. He closed his eyes and, for good measure, put his hand over them. "Better?"

The carriage rounded a corner. "Look now," she directed He did - and then gaped at the beautiful house. "Do you like it?"

"Oh my!"

"Welcome home," she smiled. "Welcome to Barvedui."


	98. Transformation

By the end of the first year, nothing grew on blasted and desecrated ground.

By the end of the first decade, stubborn clumps of grass pockmarked the rubble-strewn landscape.

By the end of three decades, only piles of shattered rock protruded from the carpet of green.

By the end of six decades, clear streams flowed westward toward the Anduin, punctuated occasionally by graceful willows on the banks.

By the end of a century, flowers bloomed and birds once more sang in the branches of the copses that lined the streambeds.

After King Eldarion ascended the throne, Mordor was finally renamed.


	99. Warning Signs

The music was exquisite, the delicious wine flowed freely, and even ale had been found to meet a more discriminating palate. In the midst of the celebration, the two friends sat apart from the others.

"That lass in the white dress has been eyeing you all evening."

Legolas frowned. "Gimli, how many times must I tell you that I am not…"

The dwarf's white beard bristled. "Lad, listen to me. I will not be here to look after you forever. You need to find someone…"

"Not now!" Legolas hissed and stalked off for more wine.

The dwarf sighed heavily, worried.


	100. Reflections

Elrohir leaned on the ship's railing, his face turned aft watching the dark line of Middle-earth sink out of sight. "Did we do the right thing?"

"Second thoughts, brother?"

"Always." He gave Elladan a twisted smile. "I am the thoughtful one, just as you are the rash one."

"You both know we could not stay." Celeborn's voice was soft. "And yet, what will those we left do now? Did we abandon them?"

"Thranduil remains, determined never to leave; and those who remain know to find him."

"I will miss the Second-born," Elrohir sighed.

"As will I."

Celeborn remained silent. Torn.


	101. Acting Out

_"Pride is still aiming at the best houses: Men would be angels, angels would be gods. Aspiring to be gods, if angels fell; aspiring to be angels men rebel." - Alexander Pope_

_How would a character not allowed to express his or her thoughts, creativity, or opinion act out? Capture this in a story, poem or piece of art._

The bleat of a horn and crack of a whip were his signals, and he leaned into the task. Slowly he pushed on the section of heavy, wooden beam assigned to him, straining as his companions did.

It mattered not that he'd not eaten that day, or that he'd been waiting for his entire shift. The horn had blown, and it was time for the great Black Gates to open for the latest arrivals from the South and East.

It made his day to know that he could scuff little bits of gravel down onto the heads of those below.


	102. Broken

_Start a story or poem with Charles Dickens' famous opening line from A Tale of Two Cities: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." (If you're creating a piece of artwork for this challenge, use this line as your theme or title.)_

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Eregon straightened to attention as his Lady passed on her white mare.

No longer need they fear incursions from that vile tower to the north. Dol Guldur was no more; he had been there to watch as his Lady had sung its utter ruin.

And now, amazingly, she was leaving. The Golden Wood was emptying, some Elves sailing with the Lady, while others following the Lord to Imladris. He had distant kin in Eryn Lasgalen, among the Tawarren and Laegren.

In victory, the Galadhrim were a broken people.


	103. Found

_Voltaire said that it's not enough to conquer: one must learn to seduce. Write a story or poem or create artwork where seduction plays a central role__._

Elrond stared at the scene before him.

Things were not going well, and Gil-galad had recommended that he find a place that could serve as a refuge if circumstances took yet another turn for the worse. Weeks had been spent quietly riding about the wilds of Eregion, looking for that one place that said, "safe" to him.

And here it was, beckoning him to take a chance _here_.

It would take time, but _this_ place was defensible – and beautiful at the same time.

They would call it what it was: a dell at the bottom of a ravine. Rivendell.

Imladris.


	104. Cold Feet

_There would be no one to frighten you if you refused to be afraid."-Ghandi Write a story or poem or create artwork where the character conquers his or her fears._

Maglor gazed across the water, feasting his eyes on the tower at Avallonë as a starving man would gorge himself at a banquet table. And yet, he fought with the current that drew him inexorably onwards, striving to hold off the moment of landing for as long as possible.

On the strength of a baseless conviction that had slowly grown in his heart and mind until he could think of nothing else, he had traded all of his other belongings for this boat and set sail westward. But now that he was here, all he could do was ask himself if he had erred. Was he sailing to his death - or to forgiveness? Was mercy even possible for one such as he?

He wouldn't know until he landed. He _did_ know he was beyond exhausted trying to hide his Elven nature from those who didn't understand. His cousin Artanis had sailed home and been forgiven. She had done more to assist in the defeat of the Enemy than he had, though...

It mattered not.

He set aside fear as he trimmed the sail, and pinned his gaze on home. Maglor, son of Fëanor, was ready to face his doom.


	105. Taters

_The cuisine of the Shire is unsurpassed. Write a story or poem, or create a work of art, featuring food._

**Taters**

Sam's eyes bugged as he stared at the contents of the bowl.

"Taters?" He turned and looked up at his host. "Here?"

Elrond threw his head back and laughed hard, and next to him, Celebrían's chuckle sparkled like the sun off the Brandywine. "Of course, taters. Do you honestly think Frodo and Bilbo would have allowed us to bring them here _without_ any?"

Sam turned and stared at Frodo, who merely shook his head and dished a healthy helping onto his plate. "Eat up, Sam. Aurin requested Rosie's recipe for these, you know."

His first breakfast in Aman was amazing!


	106. Knowing Better

_Write a story or poem or create artwork featuring unanswered requests, prayers or pleas._

Too often had he stared up at the stars, praying for strength, for aid.

His father was ever at sea, and his mother jumped from Sirion's cliffs. Neither ever returned. Maglor ignored his pleas and brought him to live among strangers in Lindon. He'd never seen his foster-father again. Elros abandoned the life of the Firstborn and took ship to the west, never to return. Gil-galad had been cruelly cut down in the fiercest battle. He wouldn't see him again until he sailed.

Now, Elrond watched Celebrían move through their chambers like a ghost and knew better than to pray.


	107. A New Land, A New Life

_Refugee issues are our issues; their plight is our plight. Write a story or poem or create artwork that illustrates the situation of some displaced group in Middle-earth._

"We beg your leave to join our fates to yours, Oropher of Menegroth, for we do not wish to live any closer to where the Kinslayers hunt than we need to."

Oropher nodded regally. "I am most happy to welcome you to the Greenwood, Narthan, son of Alphon."

"Bow to the King properly, my sons…"

Thenidor and Maenor each traced a bow such as they had been taught to make back in their other home, when their _other_ Ada would hold court. This didn't look anything like a _real_ throne room; there was no raised dais, no golden crown, no court musician playing in the corner.

What was more, the man wearing the circlet of leaves and flowers looked familiar. Thenidor's eyes widened in fear. Would the King remember…

But he didn't. King Oropher – they called him "King" now, rather than "Counselor" – was too busy formulating agreements with the Laegren in the area to notice that the twin sons of one of his newest foresters bore a striking resemblence to his old liege-lord.

After all, they _all_ were newly arrived in this eastern forest, far from the tragedies and blood-soaked stones they'd left behind.

A new land, a new life.


	108. Waste

_Greed is good! Write a story or poem or create artwork that will prove or disprove this statement._

It wasn't fair, thought the former Master of Laketown as his hands caressed the leather of one of the two bags that held the golden coins. That one thudded against his chest with one step, while the other banged into his back with the next in a rhythm that had him lurching, not walking. Still, knowing they were close was both a relief and a frustration, as was the idea that such riches could be so easily within reach, and yet so useless in providing for his ease.

The corpse of his pony lay just far enough behind that he need not be bothered with the blowflies or the carrion birds. But the thong that held the gold bags pendant over his shoulder was a painful bond indeed, and he rued the loss of the miserable beast he'd taken to speed his flight in the night. He should have stolen a better steed!

This third day of his attempt to cross the Wastes promised to be as hot as the previous one, and his steps came slowly and dragged more and more as the merciless sun beat down on him. All it took was a stone the same color as the sand, invisible to eyes burning from the sweat that dripped into them constantly, to have him fall face down in the dust.

The Master raised his head to look with longing at the shimmer of water less than a hundred paces away. It was an illusion, he knew now, one he had been chasing for hours.

He struggled to regain his feet, but found that the only way he could actually rise was if he left behind the heavy bags of gold where they had fallen.

He fell once more only a few minutes later, and never rose again.


	109. Surprise!

Merry and Pippin blinked as Treebeard set them down in front of the White Wizard. One reason they blinked so hard was because the Wizard's garb was so bright that it stabbed painfully at the eye, as if one were staring directly into the sun. The other reason they blinked was because the two hobbits were definitely _not_ prepared to recognize the one Treebeard called "The White Wizard." When last seen, he'd been _grey_.

"Gandalf!" Pippin cried, his eyes filling with tears. "We thought you were dead!"

"I was," the White Wizard replied, his smile wide. "But I got better…"


	110. Poros Crossing

_"We were young, we were merry, we were very, very wise. And the door stood open at our feast. When there passed us a woman with the West in her eyes, And a man with his back to the East." - Mary Elizabeth Coleridge_

_The words West and East are often used in the works of Tolkien. Write a story or poem or create an artwork that uses these words as the central focus, whether as cardinals, regions or as metaphors._

Faramir quickly decided that while one marketplace normally sounded very much like the next, this one had a flavor all its own. Here one could find silks from northern Rhudaur in one stall, a selection of spices that came from lands far to the South and East in the next, and dwarves selling tools and weapons in the next again. The sound of accents and languages from every possible corner of Middle-earth assailed his ears with the music of commerce.

From the open doors of inns filtered music both familiar and alien, with sounds of flute and harp competing at times with strains from instruments that he couldn't picture in his mind. And the colors! He would never have imagined so many colors of fabrics that it put a rainbow to shame. The scent of foods, familiar, unfamiliar, savory and plain, made his mouth water.

Most strikingly, the faces surrounding him were an interesting mix of pale and ruddy, light and so dark as to be completely black. It was as if all of humanity had converged on this fledgling community, each bringing with it the wealth of history and culture and tradition to contrast and compete in a way that was altogether pleasing, entirely addictive.

What an splendid alternative to war!

Elessar's idea to put a trading post where the Harad Road crossed the Poros River was a stroke of genius. Surely both East and West would benefit greatly! He was glad Aragorn had sent him to see how well his idea was faring; and he also wondered if he had enough specie in his coinpouch to purchase gifts for his wife and children.

With a smile of anticipation, he turned back to barter with the seller offering silks who had a bolt of green that Éowyn would love…


	111. Conspiracy

"Tell me again why we're doing this?"

"Because she's grown complacent, Estel – she thinks you've become tame."

"She knows better!"

"Really? What happened to your plans for a week's hunting with the ambassador from Rhûn"

"That was different. Eldarion was sick…"

"Estel, how many OTHER healers are in Minas Tirith?"

"She prefers I handle all the children's ills."

"Lap dog."

"I am not!"

"Prove it!"

"I don't know – are you certain this will wash out, Elladan?"

"Of course it will – eventually – won't it Elrohir?"

"Come on - trust us, Estel. Would we lead you astray?"

"Yes."

"Well…?"

"Valar. I'm doomed."


End file.
